The young inventor looked up and down the lonely road, undecided what to do.  To return home meant that he would be delayed in getting to Albany, for he would lose a day.  If he pushed on to Pompville he might be able to get a bit of wire there.

Tom decided that was his best plan, and plodded on through the thick sand.  He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, every step seeming harder than the preceding one, when he heard, from the woods close at his left hand, a gun fired.  He jumped so that he nearly let the motor-cycle fall over, for a wild idea came into his head that the tramp had shot at him.  With a quickly-beating heart the lad looked about him.

“I wonder if that was Happy Harry?” he mused.

There was a crackling in the bushes and Tom, wondering what he might do to protect himself, looked toward the place whence the noise proceeded.  A moment later a hunter stepped into view.  The man carried a gun and wore a canvas suit, a belt about his waist being filled with cartridges.

“Hello!” he exclaimed pleasantly, Then, seeing a look of alarm on the lad’s face, he went on: 

“I hope I didn’t shoot in your direction, young man; did I?”

“No—­no, sir,” replied the youthful inventor, who had hardly recovered his composure.  “I heard your gun, and I imagined—­”

“Did you think you had been shot?  You must have a very vivid imagination, for I fired in the air.”

“No, I didn’t exactly think that,” replied Tom, “but I just had an encounter with an ugly tramp, and I feared he might be using me for a target.”

“Is that so.  I hadn’t noticed any tramps around here, and I’ve been in these woods nearly all day.  Did he harm you?”

“No, not me, but my motor-cycle,” and the lad explained.

“Pshaw!  That’s too bad!” exclaimed the hunter.  “I wish I could supply you with a bit of wire, but I haven’t any.  I’m just walking about, trying my new gun.”

“I shouldn’t think you’d find anything to shoot this time of year,” remarked Tom.

“I don’t expect to,” answered the hunter, who had introduced himself as Theodore Duncan.  “But I have just purchased a new gun, and I wanted to try it.  I expect to do considerable hunting this fall, and so I’m getting ready for it.”

“Do you live near here?”

“Well, about ten miles away, on the other side of Lake Carlopa, but I am fond of long walks in the woods.  If you ever get to Waterford I wish you’d come and see me, Mr. Swift.  I have heard of your father.”

“I will, Mr. Duncan; but if I don’t get something to repair my machine with I’m not likely to get anywhere right away.”

“Well, I wish I could help you, but I haven’t the least ingenuity when it comes to machinery.  Now if I could help you track down that tramp—­”

“Oh, no, thank you, I’d rather not have anything more to do with him.”

“If I caught sight of him now,” resumed the hunter, “I fancy I could make him halt, and, perhaps, give you back the wire.  I’m a pretty good shot, even if this is a new gun.  I’ve been practicing at improvised targets all day.”